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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27084502">Mourn the years before I got carried away</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/irritatedcat/pseuds/irritatedcat'>irritatedcat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Peaky Blinders (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Light Bondage, M/M, Oral Fixation, Period Typical Attitudes, Romance, Subdrop, Thumb-sucking, Tommy Shelby Needs a Hug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-09 02:22:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,621</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27084502</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/irritatedcat/pseuds/irritatedcat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Tommy was caught sucking his thumb.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>And one time he did it on purpose.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons, Tommy Shelby/Lizzie Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>176</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. i</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I tried to keep this canon-compliant and set late Season 3 to 5 (mostly). Comments are absolutely appreciated.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>i.</p><p>Tommy had three offices. The first, in their gambling house, at the back, with a rickety chair and table. He hadn't changed it much since his success, and he rarely used it. The second, in his actual company, a private office with fogged glass and their logo emblazoned on the double-paned doors. He had paid a fortune in the decorating, but it had been well worth it. Lavish, and expensive things always caught his eye, ever since he was a boy. And that fact was even more true in his home office that was redecorated every few years to reflect the latest fashion trends. If it’s one thing he would never be it was dowdy; last centuries fads had no place in his home. He was a modern man, and as such, he rather enjoyed the Art Deco designs from France. Though, the Americans had an eye for it in their interiors, so he hired American designers to do up their common spaces as well as his office.</p><p>He was sitting at his desk, his brand-new desk, the first time he was caught. </p><p>Finn was manning the tracks these days, but Tommy never gave anyone full reign of anything since Michael’s blunder in New York. Finn was trying too hard to be like them; Tommy did not trust him to check the accounts as thoroughly as was required. Rereading the ledger for the fifteenth time, knowing something was not fitting in, infuriated him. He got up, tossed his glasses onto the papers, and poured a glass of whisky from the decanter on his new wet bar near the settee. After two glasses, the buzzing behind his eyes seemed to subside and he went back to the ledger to read it again. He wanted a smoke but was so engrossed by the fickle numbers under his nose that he did not notice, his hand come to his face. He still didn’t notice when his thumb was in his mouth, knuckles brushing the tip of his nose as he gently sucked away some tension. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>**</p><p>Coming to Birmingham was always a bloody great inconvenience. Every single time it was unplanned, on his part, and he had to shout at Ollie to get the fuck up and get the fucking car. Of course, when Tommy sent cryptic fucking telegrams, he couldn't just ignore them, could he? The man was obviously going mad and Alfie, soft-hearted as he was, wasn’t going to ignore the poor lunatic. He went through the song and dance of rousing Ollie and driving out into the backwater of Birmingham to that stupid house where he was let in by the maid after standing outside in the chilly cold. Luckily, Alfie liked Frances a great deal. She knew all of Tommy's secrets and she couldn't be bribed (he had tried, again and again, and she never caved).</p><p>Once inside, Frances lead him to Tommy's office, and on the way, Alfie noticed all the extravagant, new furniture. All very modern, just like Tommy wanted everyone to think, modern and gentile and certainly not hiding any blood stains or bullet holes. Alfie knew better and had never in his life pined for the simpler things, like chairs with bloody circles for armrests, what the fuck was that anyway? Stupid. He said it once, he’d say it again, Tommy was a silly boy, and the trappings of this fucking prison he called home just proved it.</p><p>"That's enough, luv, I know my way from here," Alfie told her kindly once they arrived at the first set of doors. Tommy had two sets that lead to his office so it was easier to prepare to shoot anyone should they siege his home.</p><p>"Good night, Mr. Solomons." She said and left him. Though, he had no doubt she was just around the corner, watching. Loyalty like that could not be bought, and Alfie made a note to lecture Ollie about how he had to step up his game if he was to be compared to dear Frances.</p><p>Alfie didn't bother knocking, if Tommy wanted privacy, he ought not summon people at unholy hours. With the doors wide open the smell of the room hit him in the face before anything else. Like wood polish and whisky, wasn’t it? Reminded him of a gentleman’s club in London that hung a neat little plaque: “No dogs. No Irish. No Jews. No Blacks.” Alfie had promptly marched inside with some of his men, stolen what they liked, and then burnt it to the ground. Silly boy, Alfie mused again, a silly little boy with his head in the clouds, playing games about equality as if fascism weren’t a hydra that grew six heads once one had been hacked off. Six heads? Maybe it was seven.  The metaphor stood regardless.</p><p>Beyond the smell of old money—which Mr. Thomas Shelby, OBE DCM MM, absolutely did not have—was the distinct absence of smoke. Tommy was like a little train engine, puffing along everywhere he went. Alfie squinted at the man, trying to work out what was different, he saw Tommy was seated at a brand new, posh, and frankly garish desk. Tommy never slumped forward, he tended to lean to the left, and, right, there he was, leaning to the left as his right hand scratched out something with a pen—a pen that cost damn near as much as Alfie's house, no doubt. That all checked out. But his left hand.</p><p>His left hand.</p><p>It was just seconds between Alfie arriving and Tommy realizing he had company, but he had been seen. Tommy's jaw was very gently flexing and unflexing, his hand had been curled into a fist in front of this mouth, his thumb wedged between two pink lips, that was what Alfie Solomons saw. And, oh, did Alfie feel the stirrings of something that was almost giddy; Thomas Shelby sucking his thumb! What a sight! It did something to him; arousal, certainly, when imagining those lips working sweetly around his cock, but also a fierce protectiveness settled solidly in his chest. Men like Tommy did not hide in their finery and suckle at their fingers like babes in the nighttime. This wasn’t normal, certainly. But just as quickly, Thomas put his hand down and looked at Alfie from under his owlish spectacles as if nothing had happened.</p><p>"You made it in record time, Alfie." He said. There was a tension between them now, Alfie always felt some tension around Tommy, but this was different. This was a secret. One Alfie intended to guard, so he did not comment at all, and he could see Tommy's shoulders relaxing as he understood Alfie would not call attention to such childish conduct.</p><p>Not yet, anyway.</p><p>"Yeah, right, see, that's on account of poor Ollie. The lad just wants some sleep, Tommy, hadda drive with the pedal to the floor, hoping against hope I’d let him kip in the car after we arrived." He sat down opposite Tommy's desk, both hands on the top of his cane, leaning forward. </p><p>“If it’s a bed he needs I can have Frances set up a guest room.” Tommy said, “One for each of you.”</p><p>“And spend the night in fucking Birmingham, mate? Not a bloody chance.” Alfie laughed, he forcefully tapped his cane on the wooden floor,  "What's this about someone leeching funds off you?"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. ii.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Set directly after Chapter 1. Partially a flashback sequence, though.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>ii.</p><p>If Tommy was honest with himself, no, that hadn’t actually been the first time he’d been caught with his thumb in his mouth. (No part of him was willing to say ‘sucking his thumb’ the sequence of those words were humiliating and had an effect on him he didn’t want to face.) Alfie had left a little while ago and Tommy turned to watch him go by looking out the window where the drapes opened just enough to reveal a sliver of greenery marred only by the driveway. He liked that feeling; being wealthy and powerful.</p><p>All in all, it was a habit he’d thought had been put to bed a long time ago, before France, but after Greta. And, oh, that connection felt like being lanced through the stomach. Thinking about her hurt near as much as when he was trapped in circling thoughts about Grace. Greta had been so beautiful, with long dark hair and eyes that were always pinched and much more serious than his. She’d thought he was funny and laughed when he showed up in new suits or acquired jewelry for her— back then, he thought he’d been very clever, but she likely knew the gifts had been stolen all along. Because she was quick and clever and he’d been as awkward and clumsy as a colt. While Greta was dying he sat by her bedside, holding her hand, always, helping to spoon her soup, rubbing her back as she coughed, and mopping her brow through the long nights. When she slept he’d sat there, thumb pressed hard against the roof of his mouth, lost to the sensation because every other thought or feeling threatened to shatter the calm they'd fought for. It got so bad that he had to wear gloves when outside. But, how could he help it? He’d been a child. </p><p>24. </p><p>Maybe not so much a child, then, maybe just childish. Or free, careless, like Johnny Dogs. Laughing had been easy. Loving had been easy. Everything had felt effortless until she died. The war seemed like an opportunity to run away from the feelings of helplessness and anger. Or, a place to try and make meaning out of losing someone who’d deserved better. If they had had more money they could have bought her more time. If she hadn’t been Italian or from Birmingham maybe they could have gone to a better doctor. The injustices crawled under his skin and he wanted to peel it off. There just wasn’t anyone, in particular, to rally against; the war was a direction.</p><p>But the war wasn’t when he’d stopped sucking his thumb, it happened a little before that because of Freddie Thorne. Ah, well, that wasn’t a face he thought about often; Freddie was likely rolling in his grave seeing the way the Shelby’s were living now. He'd died the same way as Greta— and if there was a God they had a sick sense of humor to make that connection. Freddie had been his friend; he'd given Tommy his first cigarette when they were twelve. Arthur and John smoked long before that, but Tommy hadn't, mostly because he wasn’t risking a beating for being caught with his father’s stolen cigarettes. Arthur and John might escape it, might get away with a clap on the ear, or a punch to the stomach, but Arthur Sr. always pulled off his belt when he caught Tommy stealing. Tommy suspected it was because he was too much like his mother and his father had resented that. Doesn’t matter. </p><p>It doesn’t matter.</p><p>Forcefully, now, Thomas Shelby opened his mouth to pull his stubborn thumb out. Again? Twice in the same day after nothing all these years? He’d never put away the stories and spells of his gypsy youth and he spent the next hour chain-smoking as he wracked his brain for sucking related curses that might have been placed on him. There must be some reason this unpleasant habit suddenly reappeared. But thoughts of curses gave way to the thing he’d been trying to remember before he’d gotten stuck thinking about Greta, or the war, and that was the first time someone— Freddie— had said it wasn’t the right thing to do.</p><p>Freddie Thorne had thought it was funny! Tommy could still remember his breathy chuckling; which Freddie was prone to in both moments of malice and nervousness. On this occasion, it was certainly malice that amused him. They’d been out, not at the Garrison, that hadn’t been erected yet. It was a shady pub set along by the cut, not far from Charlie’s scrapyard. They’d been drinking, there was little else to do when you didn’t have a job or aspirations, and not a single one between them had come by their beer money legally. Once the night got long and they’d settled in a large booth at the back, hidden behind a wall of cigarette smoke, Tommy’s thumb inevitably found its way to his mouth.</p><p>Seconds later, Freddie swatted his elbow, the force of the blow knocked Tommy’s hand down and his thumb out of his mouth. It had surprised him and caused him to rush hot and cold at the same time, which Tommy now knew had been the searing heat of arousal. Back then he hadn’t thought much about his attraction to men, assuming it was the masculine camaraderie his father and uncles spoke about. He learned the intricacies of sexual relationships after the war when he’d come back pale and scrawny, and seeing ghosts, and was aching for someone else to put him back together. It hadn’t been Freddie, despite how much Tommy had hoped it might be. The war had twisted him up into something bitter and spat him out; really, it had done that to all of them, but Freddie had come away with a fucking vendetta and Tommy found himself too tired to join.</p><p>“The fuck’re you doin’, Tom?” Freddie was watching him, grinning like a fucking cat, like he’d caught and cornered something small.</p><p>“He’s always done’at,” Arthur slurred around his pint, they’d only been able to afford beer then, “Leave’em’lone.”</p><p>“He’s not a fucking kid anymore. Tom, you’re a grown as man, aren’t you? Act like it!” Freddie said.</p><p>Tommy had laughed it off because doing anything else would have been childish, and he made every effort to be above that. He’d been wounded though, embarrassed, and wondered how many other people had thought the same thing. He wondered if he’d ever embarrassed Greta, or if her family had known and whispered about it behind his back. The lump of insecurity quickly turned into anger towards his brothers—for their constant coddling— and gratefulness towards Freddie. Even humiliated, Tommy knew when something was for his own good.</p><p>The rest of the night passed so uneventfully that Tommy couldn’t recall anything until he, John, and Arthur were staggering back to their caravan. The night had been chilly, they were all bundled up with coats and gloves with their caps pulled down low. Tommy was drunk and quiet, and he knew that was signaling to his brothers that he was seething. Fool that he was, Arthur took it for embarrassment, and he slung an arm around Tommy’s shoulder and said, “Don’t worry ‘bout’im, Tom. Do whatever feels right.”</p><p>Tommy ducked down and slammed his shoulder into Arthur’s stomach! The taller man staggered sideways and nearly fell.</p><p>“Fuck off, Arthur. I’m not a fuckin’ kid.” He’d yelled, took his cap off, and gave it to John. Furious as he was, he didn’t want to cut his brother.</p><p> “Oi! Just tryin’ to help, Tom! S’alright you do that. S’alright.” Arthur was trying to comfort him but was only succeeding in piling insult on top of injury, “Doesn’t matter what anyone else says.” </p><p>But Tommy wasn’t hearing that. He squared his shoulders and raised his fists, ready to fight if that’s what it took to shut his idiot of a brother up. Arthur had always been skinny and expressive, and his face twisted up in anger, but he didn’t match Tommy’s stance. He took a few steps back, “I mean it, Tom. Don’t matter what Freddie Thorne says.”</p><p>Tommy took two steps towards him and swung! He missed it because Arthur turned and began running!</p><p>“Arthur!” Tommy yelled and chased him, the cold air biting his lungs made it difficult. On the best of conditions, he could never catch Arthur.</p><p>They ran over the hill towards their camp, and Tommy’s ire only grew with each step. </p><p>Barely three minutes into the chase Tommy staggered and nearly fell, so he grabbed a rock and threw it right at Arthur’s retreating back, letting out a sound like a trapped animal as he did so.</p><p>It missed Arthur by several feet, but his brother still exclaimed, “Bloody hell, Tom!” As if Tommy hadn’t thrown rocks at him before.</p><p>They never talked about it after that.</p><p>Though, now, all these years later, maybe Arthur was right.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. iii.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Full disclaimer I didn't do nearly as much of the usual research regarding Baptisms or 1920s telephone numbers.<br/>Feel free to comment on any errors regarding these two topics and I'll make amends.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>iii.</p><p>Birmingham looked different these days, it was still dirty, and fire still poured from the factories on the march into the office but somehow it wasn’t the same city he’d spent his youth in. He remembered being small and running with Arthur and their friends barefoot down the cobblestone streets, trousers barely fitting, cap too big, dirt on his nose. The memories in Birmingham were gritty with black soot, just like the city was, but they were wholly pleasant and light; it didn’t hurt to remember playing in the streets. Unlike the memories about their camp on the outskirts of the city. Even though those memories are full of dappled sunshine and cozy nights wrapped up with his brothers under the stars, there was always darkness at the edges. </p><p>Or, maybe it was his popularity, which changed how the city looked. Every week the Peaky Blinders, and by extension, Shelby Company Limited were growing and expanding. Being a Minister had turned more eyes on them as well, men who were like Freddie Thorne came to ask for jobs, seeking fair employment under his leadership. It was true that many people hated or resented their success, but others knew their hardships were lessened by the business Tommy had brought in through all his various deals and contracts. People said hello to him, they stopped and tipped their hats, maybe that was fear, maybe it was reverence. Overall, Tommy didn’t care why, he was glad for it. Glad that finally— finally— things felt a little easier and they could breathe again. Now that the dust had settled; the family was back together, Ruby and Lizzie had moved into his home, Alfie was safe in Margate, and Tommy was the undisputed leader of the Peaky Blinders.</p><p>King, he liked to tell himself, he was the king.</p><p>Michael was due back that afternoon to deliver a report on the current situation in America— that, and, Polly wanted him present for Ruby’s Christening. Tommy didn’t trust him. He kept having dreams of the tunnels collapsing and Michael crawling out of the dirt wearing a Kraut's uniform and stabbing Tommy to death with a knife that had a handle like a black snake, glistening and cold, with ruby red eyes. The blood that poured out of the wounds over his hands was hot and sticky, and even once Tommy was awake he could still feel it caked in the creases of his palms. Lizzie tried to draw him back under the duvet but how could she understand? He didn’t have the words to tell her what was happening in his dreams, or why he needed to get away from her. What he needed was to find a quiet place and have a drink and calm down— sometimes that was beside Ruby’s crib, watching her back rise and fall with each breath. And, if it was dark, and no one could see, then what was the harm letting his thumb found its way to his mouth. </p><p>So long as no one knew. It didn’t matter; image intact.</p><p>Ruby wouldn’t ever tell.</p><p>Once inside, he walked past Lizzie’s old desk and made a note to file another ad for a new secretary. He wondered if the only reason Lizzie stayed was because they had been fucking; he couldn’t seem to keep anyone else. The early morning was the best time to work, the city was still quiet, and Tommy could take a moment to replace the old photo of Charlie with a more recent one. In it, Charlie is wearing his new school uniform, holding the reigns of his new horse, grinning with all his teeth showing. He looked at the old black-and-white picture of his son when he was a toddler, all round-cheeked and drooly smiles, and ached for what Charlie would never have. Lizzie was doing very well taking care of Charlie like he was her own. Despite the boy’s penchant for the dramatics, she was kind to him. He needed a mother; Tommy had known he just wasn’t cut out to be a single father. Grace would have been a perfect mother. But, he couldn’t change the past, and he couldn’t keep working himself up with grief.</p><p>Hours passed in a blur of ledgers, signatures, legal documents, and hasty phone calls securing goods for services rendered before he heard the office door creak open then shut. Tommy looked up. He hadn’t expected to see Michael but he wasn’t surprised by the sudden appearance. Tommy kept his expression neutral and watched as Michael approached, no cane insight, and stood before the great oak desk.</p><p>“Didn’t expect you’d want me to come.” Michael said, “Seeing as I’m not Ruby’s godfather anymore.”</p><p>“I didn’t. Pol wanted you there as a witness.” Tommy replied, matter-of-fact. Michael had lost his rights to Tommy’s children when he’d sold him out to Changretta.</p><p>“So, it’s Arthur now, is it? He’s not even Catholic.” Michael countered.</p><p>“Neither am I.”</p><p>“Seems those details get brushed under the rug when you’re bankrolling the church, huh? Or, are you blackmailing members of the cloth now?”</p><p>Tommy didn’t have time for this banter, “What is it you want, Michael?”</p><p>Michael shook his head, matching Tommy’s unimpressed, neutral expression, even the downward turn of his lips, “Just wanted you to know I was here before anyone else did.”</p><p>Tommy nodded and sat there silently. He folded his hands and leaned on the desk, the picture of patience, as if he had all day to waste in a staring contest with his traitorous cousin. Michael blinked first and straightened up, “Polly sent me to make sure you leave on time. I’ll wait in my old office."</p><p>Tommy dismissed him with a nod. Once Michael left, he resumed working.</p><p>Tommy didn’t know how long it had been but when he heard the door open again he belatedly realized he’d been sucking on his thumb. With a slowly dawning horror, he realized Michael had caught him in the act. Tommy had to work very hard to keep himself steady as he met Michael’s eyes. The bastard was smirking. Nowhere near as respectful or tactful as Alfie had been, nor as kind and indulgent as Arthur. There was a real look of malice on the man's expression, which Tommy couldn't blame him for. Michael was opportunistic to a fault and this was a weakness, they both knew it. Maybe it wasn’t one Michael could directly exploit; it’d hardly cost him his position as a Minister, after all. And Tommy’d cut his eyes out if he said something directly. They both knew that. But Michael knew he had something now— something he could use later to stop Tommy. The thumb sucking was a tick, a chink in the armor, something Tommy’d only ever let Grace in on, a way to stop the whirling hopelessness he was constantly fighting against.</p><p>“Ready to go?” Michael asked.</p><p>Tommy stood, put on his coat and lit a cigarette, then breezed past Michael as if nothing had happened. They had to be at the cathedral by four o’clock. Ruby came first, this misstep could be handled later.</p><p>Tommy held his daughter as the scripture was read, and then Lizzie held her while the Priest rinsed her head with holy water. Ruby’s hair was thick and dark like Lizzie’s, but pin-straight like Tommy’s. She didn’t cry— Charlie had been hysterical, but Ruby was different. She looked around between them, kicking and waving. Tommy watched her, not caring what was being said, only grateful that now her soul was guaranteed a place in Heaven. He believed that much—in souls, in Heaven, and that he was damned to Hell. His children would not follow him, not if he could stop it.</p><p>At the end of the ceremony, they returned to Arrow House for a party. It was sedate, as Polly demanded it be, they couldn’t well drink to a child’s Baptism. Arthur and Tommy did anyway, but in secret, in his office at home.</p><p>“Michael’s seen me,” Tommy said.</p><p>“Seen you what, Tom?” Arthur did not understand. Likely, he didn’t know Tommy had reverted to his childhood habit. Tommy wasn’t very keen on reminding his brother, so he let it drop. He could handle this by himself.</p><p>Bloody well handled everything by himself, didn’t he?</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>**</p><p>When Michael found him a few days later, the morning of his departure, he said, "I want to go to Detroit."</p><p>“Our primary contacts are in Boston,” Tommy replied.</p><p>I didn’t ask, Tom,” Michael's tone was level and firm, just as Tommy's would have been, “Automobile manufacturers are building factories in Detroit, and our friend in Chicago won’t be far, and, you owe me.”</p><p> Tommy watched Michael and thought about how easy it would be to kill him. He’d killed plenty of people and, outside of Grace, had yet to regret even one. Michael would make things complicated with Polly, but things were always complicated with Polly. Also, he was reasonably sure she wouldn’t retaliate. Probably. However, he also knew that the adage of keeping enemies closer was true. If Michael couldn't be trusted it would be easier to keep tabs on the young man if they were on civil terms. Tommy refused to consciously weigh how much he didn’t want to risk Michael telling the world about his thumb sucking as it factored into this decision.</p><p>He nodded, “Fine. Next quarter, we’ll check the books, and then find suitable accommodations.”</p><p>Michael knew better than to push; Arthur and Finn could push Tommy beyond his limits, they were his brothers and he’d do anything for them, idiots that they were. Michael didn’t have the luxury of being a Shelby or being a half-wit, so he agreed to Tommy’s terms. For now.</p><p> “Pleasure doing business, Tom,” He said and just barely resisted tipping his hat— not a cap anymore, Tommy noted— before leaving to go tell Polly the good news.</p><p> Tommy inhaled and exhaled slowly, and waited until Michael was too far away to hear him. The decanter off the bar whistled as it sailed through the air and shattered against the paneled walls. Tommy's hands were shaking but he felt better having thrown the damn thing. He sat back, reclining heavily in his chair, chest heaving with breaths that threatened to become sobs. After several tense minutes, he was calm enough that his hands weren’t shaking, and he was able to pick up the phone, “Put me through to MAR 23.” </p><p>The call was connected, and moments later Alfie’s rambling voice came through the line. “What bleedin’ part of dead are you not comprehending, eh, Thomas? A man has a right to privacy, don’t he? Even dead men, Thomas, even DEAD MEN have the right to privacy! And how can I have that if bloody Parliament Ministers are calling my home phone without provocation? Can’t, can I? Just stuck being your bloody heel dog for the rest’ a me bloody life, and the afterlife. But you like that, don’t you, Tommy? My boy? You want me at your fingertips forever, don’t you?”</p><p>It took all of Tommy’s willpower not to smile.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. iv</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Pilfered the premise of their relationship from "The Portrait" by Eehms. Highly recommended if you're looking for a good time.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>iv.</p>
<p>It had taken a long time, but they had come to an agreement on having a modern marriage. Tommy felt the arrangement was better suited to their personalities than the boxes they’d tried to jam one another into. The reality was they had gotten married because Tommy was lonely, because Lizzie was pregnant, because Charlie needed a mother, because Ruby deserved better than what Lizzie’s salary would afford. Then, they hadn’t stopped sleeping together because it was just easier. They shared a bedroom some nights, a house most nights, so finding one another in the dark was inevitable. Well, that and Tommy still, selfishly, liked to ‘claim’ Lizzie as his, or put on a show of being a family for their benefit. Also, if Tommy was being honest with himself, he had always wanted that sort of soft nuclear life he’d never had. Though, it wasn’t quite that, what with the both of them having partners on the side; the children didn’t know. They wouldn’t need to know until they were much older.</p>
<p>It had been difficult for them to discuss, as speaking wasn’t something either of them was particularly good at. Tommy, especially, struggled with speaking unless he was twisting something around to his point of view, and with Lizzie that had never been easy; she saw through him. So, it was Lizzie’s idea, keeping their marriage up for the sake of convenience, but to see other people as well. The moment she suggested it Tommy’s entire vision had clouded over, and he’d stood up and screamed at her. He yelled a lot, but not usually at people, certainly not at her, but he had been so offended by the fucking idea if he hadn’t shouted, he might have struck her. He worked very hard to keep himself in check when disciplining the children or arguing with Lizzie; he didn’t care about his sisters-in-law, and if he hit Polly she’d probably cut his balls off, but he wouldn’t strike his family because he wasn’t going to be anything like his father. But the screaming, and threatening, and inevitable breaking of expensive baubles had been beyond his limited self-control. </p>
<p>When the cloud lifted, quite a long time later, he looked around the wrecked sitting room and felt ashamed. Lizzie was sitting, unscathed, in one of the two leather armchairs. All around her laid debris of shattered bottles, splashes of liquor, pages torn from books, and dusty shared of glass. Luckily, she was just idly smoking and watching him. She looked annoyed, her dark eyes cutting through him, totally unphased by the tantrum. He could only hear his heart pounding in his ears as he slumped down to sit opposite her, panting like he had run a fucking mile. She tapped out her cigarette into the gilded ashtray that had escaped unscathed from the maelstrom, then she lit another.</p>
<p>“Are you finished?” She asked.</p>
<p>Tommy pressed his elbows into his knees and laced his fingers at the back of his head and didn’t answer.</p>
<p>Tommy it makes sense. We never loved each other; we don’t even share a bedroom anymore. The children haven’t got to know, certainly, and the help is too fucking frightened of you to gossip.” She gestured around them at his mess.</p>
<p>  “You’re my wife.” It was churlish, he knew that, but he said it anyway.</p>
<p>“I am your wife, but if you don’t agree to this, I’m never going to fuck you again. Do you think I like it, Thomas? Sex is so boring with you these days,” he didn’t flinch but she knew he was hurt by that, and good, he deserved it, “I have had much more sex than you and I know you don’t like it either.”</p>
<p>“It’s perverse.” Tommy said, “Having bits on the side is—”</p>
<p>“What’s perverse is having sex repeatedly with someone you could gleefully strangle, that’s perverse.” Lizzie’s tone was sharp, and firm, and left no room for argument.</p>
<p>His voice was raw as he asked, “Do you already know who you’ll be fucking?”</p>
<p>“No, I do not. I haven’t cheated on you, God knows why.” She replied, but they both knew why, because Tommy would find out who it was and cut them to ribbons for finally killing them. Then, she stood up, “Think about it and tell me in the morning.” She walked past him, daintily stepping over the glass and whatever else was on the ground.</p>
<p>The next two hours were something of a blur as he got up and attempted to tidy up the mess. He gave up halfway through and went into his office where he sprawled out on the settee, kicked off his shoes, and slept in his shirt and trousers. It was an uneasy sleep and Tommy frequently startled awake. During those in-between moments, he knew he had never given Lizzie much of a chance because of Grace. He loved her so much that thinking about her made him want to fucking cry, even still, almost six years later. Worse, he had found someone almost like Grace; who didn’t fall for his tricks, and ruffled up his veneer of business, and didn’t care how mad Tommy got. He did love them. He didn’t love Lizzie; he just didn’t want to share her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>**</p>
<p>The following morning Lizzie made sure the children were fed before she went to find Tommy and see if he’d managed to pull his head out of his arse without help. Instead, she found him still heavily asleep in his office on the small couch against the far wall, the curtains were drawn tight. None of the maids had wanted to disturb him after the theatrics last night, and really, she couldn’t blame them. She opened the drapes, and normally that worked, Tommy never slept very heavily, usually, just the littlest change brought him around. She walked over to him, tapped his shoulder, and leaned down to see if maybe he had given himself an aneurysm. But, she stopped, and watched, because her husband was laying there, sleeping more peacefully than she’d ever seen, the thumb of his left hand wedged into his mouth. He was still, save for the lines around his mouth which showed her how hard he was sucking on his thumb by the persistent, gentle bobbing.</p>
<p>She had always liked Tommy, up until she’d married him. When she first got pregnant it had been in her head that he would change, but he’d kept her at arm’s length until Ruby had been born, and then he’d only brought them into his home so he could be with his daughter. She did love that about him: how devoted he was to his children. Up until this moment, she thought it was his only decent quality, but somehow seeing him with all his usual walls down was endearing. She also felt even more certain that he deserved to find a relationship with someone he did love so maybe he could put this softness somewhere. Lizzie wasn’t able to bring whatever peace Tommy needed, she couldn’t keep the nightmares aware, she couldn’t stop his brain from thinking.</p>
<p>She knelt to sit at his back, on the floor by the settee, and she rubbed his arm gently, “Tommy?” It was the same way she woke the children, but it worked on him all the same. His sucking stilled and his brow furrowed, working out where he was and who was touching him. No doubt he was calculating if he needed to reach for the knife in his sock. She pressed a closed-mouth kiss to the spot behind his ear and spoke very softly, “I always wondered where Ruby got the habit. Seems she got more than just your flair for the dramatic.”</p>
<p>Tommy’s eyes opened wide and his thumb fell from his mouth as he twisted at his hips to look at her, “Lizzie, I—”</p>
<p>“Shush, Thomas,” She was smiling and couldn’t help it, “You think this little habit of yours bothers me? It’s probably the most benign thing about you.”</p>
<p>Tommy sighed and slumped back against the cushions, looking up at her. They stared at each other awhile, and Lizzie kept gently rubbing his arm, her endeared half-smile didn’t waver either. She deserved to be loved, or at least to enjoy herself with someone who appreciated what she had to offer. He nodded at last, “We can try seeing other people.”</p>
<p>“Good.” She kissed him on his mouth for the first time in months and he felt absolutely nothing, “Breakfast’s done. Get up.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. v</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you all for your kind words! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>v.</p><p>Now, the thing that no one has ever seemed to understand about Tommy Shelby is that he’s gypsy. Nevermind his Saville Row suits or the alphabet trailing after his name, no, that didn’t matter much at all. It’s a costume he has to wear for his family. It’s not who he is at the core, not really. When it comes down to it, Tommy is only himself when he’s riding. He has only felt peace when wandering the countryside, hunting his dinner, foraging for roots and leaves. He is most at home tucked down in a caravan, being rocked and swayed by the horse’s steady tread. Johnny knows because he is the same way. Though he didn’t feel the need to drape himself in finery or fill his home up with whatever the hell a wet-bar is. Tommy got distracted by all these things, so when he needed to clear his mind, he left his fancy mansion, and his offices, and his whores, and he set up camp where no one would find him. </p><p>No one but Johnny Dogs, you see. </p><p>Johnny is three years Tommy’s junior, he'd been enchanted by Thomas from their first meeting—more likely, one of their early meetings. Johnny knew their mothers had been friends, so they’d known one another since, at least, Johnny’s birth. He recalled, once, seeing Tommy and the older lads sneaking a bottle of liquor from their father, and in exchange for keeping quiet, he’d asked to join them. Of course, the older boys drank, but Tommy declined, saying instead he’d stay level-headed and on the lookout. While the others got silly and stupid, Johnny sat beside Tommy while they spoke. Whatever the conversation had been about Johnny couldn’t say, but something about Tommy, how he said so very little despite thinking so very much, had held him captive. For, Johnny Dogs, you see, he had the gift of gab about him, an ear for a good tale, and a silver-tongue; his mother always smacked him for talking too much. He could only imagine having a head buzzing with ideas and not enough words to bring them out.</p><p>Then, after the war, Tommy had lost even more words, he’d even lost his laugh. It was a terrible thing, and Johnny pitied him more than Arthur; everyone knew Arthur was shell-shook, they could ignore his outbursts. And then John seemed well enough, the tough, solid lad he’d always been, probably not clever enough to think about what he’d been made to do in France. Johnny had avoided the whole debacle quite neatly! Not a citizen, he would say, not his problem. Ooh, but Tommy. He’d lost himself. Johnny was sure he’d never see his friend again. That was alright, he understood, and he didn’t hold the cold and quiet against Tom.</p><p>That was until he found Tommy camping one night. Finding Tommy when he didn’t want to be found was difficult, nearly impossible for most. Not for Johnny Dogs, not since he knew Thomas and his gypsy-ways.</p><p>Ages ago, this was, when Johnny learned the signs of Tommy’s camp. It was before Grace had died before Charlie had been born, or maybe it had been after John had passed. By God, Johnny couldn’t keep up with the timeline of Tommy’s life! Who was left? Who’d already departed for the sweet decadence of heaven? When had Tommy been found in the brambles? Ah! That was it; it was Grace Tommy had lost, but she had only left Birmingham— this time. Poor Tommy, he’d been so put out by her betrayal. Everyone was worried when they couldn’t find him.</p><p>Johnny had been out looking for, well, we’ll say traps, that he’d set out a few days prior, and he stumbled quite literally upon Tommy. He’d recognized the horse first; Tom always loved the big, mean black ones, dark as the devil’s own heart, maybe dark as Tom’s own heart these days—a thought for another time. He’d seen it and wondered what had happened to its rider. Then, he noticed the dying fire and the long, lump of a man beside it. They were in a twiggy clearing deep in the wood, his horse tethered to a thick tree, surrounded by tall bushes to hide it. So, Johnny Dogs, smart as he was, noticed how he’d found Tommy, and that was what he looked for every time Tom had gone missing.</p><p>How his family could reconcile a grown man going missing as often as Thomas Shelby does was quite beyond Johnny’s poor brain. He could only assume they’d forgotten Tommy’s as gypsy as they are.</p><p>Anyway, Tommy—allegedly— went missing far too often to be a man of upstanding society, Johnny thought. But he also thought silk was a silly thing to wear, and he thought bracelets for your sleeves were stranger still. Tommy did lots of things that didn’t make sense by Johnny’s account. Tommy also had a great deal more money, so maybe he knew something Johnny didn't. Who's to say? Maybe going missing was a normal response to your reputation going up in literal flames.</p><p>This time, God, what hadn't gone wrong? Aberama dead, the company in shambles, Michael scheming—the little bastard!— Johnny wouldn’t trade a day of Tommy’s life. Oh, the money, sure enough, he did want that, and the maids, and the fine liquors, all of those things were very good. But, most of it a man could get without all this wheeling and posturing and torture Tommy put himself through daily. Good women, strong drinks, and some quiet, that’s what a man needed. </p><p>A thought for another time.</p><p>Knowing what to look for, it wasn’t long before he found a thicket and saw the ears of Tommy’s great big horse poking out against the twilight sky. Old habits! Johnny was glad his friend still had them.</p><p>“Tommy boy!” he called, stamping into the clearing, “That kin’a yours’ll be the death of us! Finn’s gone and got himself in a mess of trouble at the cut going on about vengeance. Charlie’s trying but, Tom, but I really think he’s had enough of you Shelby boys. You know that? Pretty sure he’s gonna take the belt to Finn if’n we don’t hurry back!”</p><p>Tommy was sat, eyes far away, transfixed on the dying fire. It was too late to be letting the fire burn down like that! Tom had scarce enough meat on him to sit through a November night without a lick of warmth. Tom was sitting low, his legs drawn up near his chin, arms folded on sharp knees. One hand had his usual black gloves on, the other was bare and pressed up against Tommy’s mouth. Johnny softened when he realized Tom had gone back to the old habit he’d nursed in their childhood. Johnny found himself a spot of dry earth to sit on and began stoking the fire again, getting it back to a blaze that let off some real heat. He figured Tommy was speaking to Grace, as he sometimes did, so he left the man alone.</p><p>Tommy was a master of comfort, Johnny mused, sneaking looks at his friend to gauge where his mind was. So, so far away. It broke Johnny's heart! Tom could soothe a man mid-flashback, cup his head, and whisper softness about being home. Tom could settle hysterical women, promise them “it” would get better. He could hold her hands in both of his, or squeeze them to his chest, and suddenly she could breathe. Tom could console babies he’d never met who were wrought with colic just by lifting them into his arms, and then he’d give them a bounce, and soon they’d be asleep. Everyone had felt some of his softness at one time or another, it was a gift he’d always had. Tommy had always known what people needed and gave it to them. But Tommy couldn’t give himself those same kindnesses, he couldn’t shush away his own nightmares, and he certainly wouldn’t let anyone try.</p><p>Finn could wait. Charlie could wait. Shelby Company Limited could wait. If Tom needed to hide away in the forest to snatch a bit of softness from the only person he’d take it from, well, then how could Johnny interrupt that? He’d get the fire burning and then slip away once Tommy seemed about to come around. No need for the man to know he’d been caught with his walls down.</p><p>It took a few minutes, but the fire was strong again when Johnny stood to leave. The heat of it must have jarred Tommy from his reprieve because suddenly he was sucking in a sharp breath. Tommy’s limbs jerked, his arms and legs extended as far away from his body as possible. Johnny dashed off, glad that the crackling underbrush went undetected by his friend. He was several yards away when he heard the scream.</p><p>The hair on his neck stood on end before he broke out into gooseflesh. He had never heard a sound like that come out of a man.</p><p>“Jesus, Tom,” Johnny Dogs sighed and looked sadly back at the clearing where Tommy was left alone to wrestle with his demons. Johnny knew he couldn’t help, he wasn’t the person who could give Tommy whatever it was that he missed. He headed back to the cut, figuring he could handle whatever Finn had done and maybe take just that much weight off of Tommy’s shoulders.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. vi</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Happy New Year! I hope all the vignettes in this chapter were worth the wait.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>vi.</p><p>Tommy didn’t like Margate, and nothing Alfie said was going to change that. Margate was for old men and giggling debutantes with over-bearing nannies. It wasn’t for men like him; men with vision and dreams and pursuits. The only reason Alfie was there was because the place had weather so mild it soothed his sciatica; well, and he was meant to be dead. Margate, Tommy would concede, was a wonderful place to live if you were dead. That had set Alfie off on an unbearable tangent, during which Tommy had watched the ships sail by and wondered if they were going to dock at the Jetty or sail on to Southampton. He noticed after a little while that Alfie had stopped shouting, and he looked over to see if his companion had fallen asleep.</p><p>Alfie was watching him, “Had a dream about you.”</p><p>“Oh?” Tommy rested his forehead against his closed fist and looked at Alfie.</p><p>"Dreamt you were running through the forest, didn’t I?” His arms raised, fingertips toward the ceiling, shoulders like a T, “Great big bloody fucking trees all around you. You were trapped. Gotten yourself good and lost and couldn’t find your way back out.”</p><p>Tommy didn’t react. He didn’t care for how Alfie’s dreams always did reflect the current state of his life.</p><p>“And the screaming, Tom? God Almighty, mate, the screaming. Heard screams like that back in France, didn’t I? Young fellows getting their limbs sawed off in the muck, yeah, crying for their mothers, for Jesus, they were. You didn’t do that, did you, in France?” Alfie wagged a finger at him. Sausage links, that’s what they reminded Tommy of, and he thought so vindictively.</p><p>“What? Get my limbs sawed off? Evidently not.” Tommy replied.</p><p>“Mmm.” Alfie watched him a little while, “Bet not. Chaos like that is good for a man like you, it’s these soft games you’re playing, all fucking words, no fucking actions. Your old tricks aren’t going to work, Tommy.”</p><p>“I didn’t come here for a lecture from you, Alfie.”</p><p>“No? Then why did you come, Tom?”</p><p>They dissolved into silence, but it wasn’t tense or uncomfortable. When Tommy never responded, Alfie, picked up his binoculars and looked out them at the ocean. Tommy lit a cigarette and leaned back in the rattan armchair, and he let his brain turn off for a little while. He had no idea how long they sat when his mind circled around to consciousness, he realized he’d picked up a book and had started to read it. Across from him, Alfie was snoring, and Tommy marveled at how he felt comfortable enough to sleep when Tommy could easily finish what he’d started all those years ago on the beach.</p><p>When the maid came to tell them about dinner Tommy said he’d wake Alfie. So, he gave the man a nudge but when that proved ineffective, he kicked the footrest away. Alfie’s feet dropped and his eyes sprang open, and he pulled his gun out, pointing it right between Tommy’s eyes. Tommy just looked at him impassively, “Bang.” Alfie didn’t pull the trigger, but neither did he lower the gun, Tommy nodded towards the doorway into the house, “Dinner.”</p><p>They ate, Alfie more-so than Tommy. After they went to Alfie’s parlor at the rear of the house to share a bottle of something and look at the small yard Alfie had. It was filled to the fence posts with raised beds full of vegetation that was lush and near to spilling over the edges. Something about it made jealousy twist in Tommy’s belly. How could Alfie just live this easily? How could he just put everything they’d done behind him? Tommy hated him, he seemed happy here— here!— in this seaside tourist trap! </p><p>Alfie settled with a weary sigh into another rattan chair on his porch— how many pieces of spinster furniture had he bought?— “Sit, Thomas, then regale me with what’s made your face scrunch up like that.”</p><p>“Nothing, Alfie,” Tommy sat down, “Your telegram said you had something to discuss.”</p><p>“Yeah, right, it did,” Alfie didn’t say any more for several minutes.</p><p>Tommy let out an agitated sigh once it had become clear Alfie wasn't just going to volunteer an answer, “And?”</p><p>“Impatient, innit we?” Alfie said, lazily rolling his head to look at Tommy with his good eye, “It’s not business, Tom, so fucking relax, why don’t ya. It’s a miracle you can bend with that gigantic pole up your arse!”</p><p> Tommy didn’t rise to the bait, but his jaw flexed and he very pointedly lowered his hands to clasp them together between his knees. Alfie saw that. He decided to carry on, “Course, you don’t mind that, do you? Don’t mind everyone knows you’re a right piece of slag. You should hear how people talk about you, Mr. Minister, like you’re a little Brummie whore, they do.” </p><p>They still weren’t looking at each other, but Alfie was able to make out Tommy’s jerky movements in his peripheral. The man had opened his cigarette case and had wet one with his lips before lighting it. The glass Tommy had been holding was empty and set on the table between them. Alfie sipped his, though he very, very rarely drank these days, he did in times of celebration. Oh, and what he had planned for Thomas Shelby certainly deserved some celebrating.</p><p>“I’ve never worried much about what people think,” Tommy said at last. His gaze was level, steely and impassive, an expression Alfie almost always saw on Tommy’s face. He understood that, while he chose to use expressive gestures as a means to communicate his power, Tommy chose to radiate apathy, the goal was the same: to psych out the opponent. However, Alfie wasn’t sure Tommy knew when he was facing an opponent or not anymore.</p><p>“No, you wouldn’t, would you?” Alfie asked, and he leaned back in his seat to look up at the ceiling of the porch. They sat in silence for a little while until Tommy finished his cigarette.</p><p>Then, the man asked, “So this isn’t about business, what is it about, then?”</p><p>Just then, a maid came over and laid down a cheese tray with two cups of coffee between them. Both Alfie and Tommy looked at the tray, then steadily at one another, wearing mirrored expressions of surprise. Tommy moved first, pointing at the offending nibbles, “What is this?”</p><p>Alfie opened his eyes wide and gave a full-body shrug, “Eh, mate, if I only but knew the impressions we were giving off I’d have corrected my staff, wouldn’t I?”</p><p>“Alfie. What. Is. This?” He enunciated each syllable again, a vein throbbed along his neck.</p><p>Alfie weighed his options and eventually decided he couldn’t upset Tommy more, “A proposition.”</p><p>“You want to fuck, is that it?” Tommy asked.</p><p>Alfie felt positively feral hearing Tommy say it like that, with such disgust, as if spending the night with Alfie was too abhorrent to consider. And, yeah, right, of course, he wanted to fuck Tommy. Who didn’t? Alfie hadn’t been exaggerating the rumors about Tommy’s downright pultrude behavior, or the rumors that came along with it. Everyone knew Tommy enjoyed women, and whores, and sometimes men, though that was a much more subtle, whispered rumor. It was fine to like women and whores. It was less-fine to enjoy the company of ones-own-sex. Well, in so-called polite society. Alfie didn’t know how to enjoy the company of women, but he did so love the company of men. He also didn’t care about what polite society said about him. Despite living in Margate, surrounded by young somethings negotiating their marriages with their chaperones, he did not understand. He did not want to understand.</p><p>“Yeah.” Alfie said, “I do, rather, yeah. Tom. I’d like to fuck you.” He scooted closer to the edge of his chair and stared right back at his friend.</p><p>Tommy’s lips quirked in the barest smile, “Then, let’s fuck.” </p><p>He picked up one of the mugs of coffee and drank it black. Alfie picked up the other and added, like a civilized fucking human being, some sugar, and milk.</p><p>“Didn’t expect that, did you?” Alfie asked.</p><p>“The fucking cheese tray? No.” Tommy scoffed, then his lips twisted in a mocking smirk, “Are you courting me, Alfie Solomons? It's my understanding that we need a chaperone, and one of us must have a dowry."</p><p>Alfie hated when Tommy thought he had a sense of humor, his quips and barbs seldom landed right. But it made Alfie wonder if Tommy had been prone to wit when he was young. Before business, before France; had he diffused his brothers with a joke? Alfie let himself relax and look at his little Paradise while he thought about what a young Thomas Shelby might have looked and acted like, he imagined the man had made sweeping gestures with his hands, tossed his head back to laugh, maybe clapped people on the shoulder and gave them a shake to emphasize his punchline. He thought, maybe, Tommy would have been the type of little slag to saunter over and drop himself into a man’s lap, coy and brazen all at once! He’d never know, and that was fine, he liked this Tommy. Alfie liked the build of him, tall and slender, hugged in luxury, fully aware of the way his bespoke trousers curved around his bottom. Again, Alfie knew Tommy did it on purpose. Alfie liked how Tommy looked at him like he was a particularly unpleasant problem, something he had to solve with a wrench instead of his clever little mouth. Alfie reveled in that; Tommy was doing it now. </p><p>They were going to fuck tonight. </p><p>Neither of them usually cared for the games that came with a fuck; they didn’t often wine and dine, both opting to pass cash between hands and then do the deed. Tommy usually went to women, but— now, Alfie didn’t know the details, but he knew it was true— Tommy had been with men before. Tommy worked hard to keep his private life just so; in many ways, his family was a mask for his sexual proclivities, just as his politics were for his career. All of which he kept inside, sorted and orderly, effortlessly controlling, holding the only key to a chained-up box of tricks. Alfie knew that Tommy was only partially honest with his wife, he told no one about the great web within which he had woven his machinations. </p><p>Alfie knew that any man with so many secrets, and so many burdens, needed an outlet. One could not spend all day living lies without going mad, so Alfie assumed that was why Tommy had come. And why he had decided to test Tommy with dinner, and a sit on the porch, and cheese and coffee for afters because if Tommy wanted Alfie to fuck him so silly he forgot his name then Alfie had to be sure that that was what Tommy wanted and not what Tommy felt he had to do. Tommy could play a long game, Alfie had seen that, but if it had been a game, he wouldn’t have been genuinely surprised by the cheese tray. He’d have politely taken the coffee— maybe even some cheese!— then Alfie would have kicked him out on his arse. </p><p>No, Tommy was embarrassed that he wanted what Alfie was offering. He was made even more uneasy by Alfie adding the trappings of a formal meeting—of a real date. Every move Alfie had made tonight had made that want even more apparent; to Tommy himself, and even the staff.</p><p>“Can we do it now?” Tommy asked.</p><p>Alfie gasped, affronted, “On the porch? Where my dear elderly neighbors could see?”</p><p>“Alfie.” Tommy wasn’t looking at him, just ahead, expression blank, not yet burning up with the shame of how much he wanted.</p><p>“I knew you had some preferences, Mr. Shelby, but I didn’t know they extended to getting fucked on a man’s porch! With your sweet little arse wiggling for everyone to see just how desperately you want my cock. Hm? I suspect the sounds you’d make would be so scandalous that a man passing by might be inclined to take out his own cock right there, right in the alley! Why he might even be inclined to peaking through my fence to catch a glimpse of your lovely naughtiness.” Alfie said, his manhood began stiffening at the thought.</p><p>Tommy sat there, impassive, a frown on his face, but a dusting of pink danced across his cheekbones.</p><p>Ah, so someone liked feeling a bit helpless, did they?</p><p>Alfie stood, “Up you get, pet. I’ll send the help home and we can enjoy wringing bits out of you.”</p><p>Tommy stood and the tent in his trousers was unmistakable. He gave Alfie a hard look, primly covered his hips with his folded coat, then made his way up to the bedroom. Alfie was true to his word and sent his staff home. It wasn’t much earlier than their usual time, not one of them was stupid enough not to know why they were getting this free evening. Alfie wasn’t worried, though, they were paid very well to be discrete about the goings-on in his house. He looked up the steps and thought about all the letters he and the prickly fellow upstairs had sent back and forth until he had initiated this meeting. The catalyst had manifested as an urgent telegram that had brought Tommy to his porch, his table, and now his bed. Every sentence Tommy had written was punctuated by loneliness; the man was aching to be seen as he was, not just the paragon of the Shelby clan. He was a man, but somewhere along the lines, he’d certainly lost that humanity. </p><p>Alfie, being a God, wasn’t certain he could restore it. After all, he could see Tommy. He could see the man needed to be built up and then dropped from a great height so that the pieces of him might fall back into alignment.</p><p>He climbed the steps.</p><p> </p><p>**</p><p>	Tommy hadn’t known how much he wanted this until he heard the stairs creak. His stomach flipped, and his cock twitched, and his hands were sweaty with nerves. He hadn’t been this excited by a fuck in ages. Maybe because he’d always initiated— but now? Tommy had stripped down to nothing, mostly because he wanted to make sure he was clear about why he’d come. But, he also didn’t want Alfie to have any control about when—or how— he’d take off his clothes. He’d always found that being the more-naked partner had a certain control over the other, it was enticing, exciting, and he could make sure the night began his way.</p><p>The doorknob turned agonizingly slowly, and Alfie stepped into the room, exuding confidence, he looked Tommy up and down, “Lovely as this is, I rather hoped I’d get to unwrap you, treacle.” Alfie said to him. He shut the door and walked up to Tommy, toe-to-toe. They were the same height, but Alfie had width which made Tommy feel much smaller. It was like a punch to the stomach when he realized: he liked being put on his back foot.</p><p>“Since you’re an eager boy: have a seat on the bed and hold your cock with one hand,” Alfie instructed.</p><p>Tommy frowned and considered arguing, but Alfie fixed him with a glower so threatening Tommy’s blood rushed through his ears and his stomach dropped to his knees at the same time. </p><p>He sat. </p><p>He held his cock in one hand. </p><p>He did not stroke it because Alfie hadn’t told him to yet.</p><p>“Ah, there’s a good boy,” Alfie said with a tone so warm and fond Tommy had to avert his eyes away. He hadn’t received praise like that in a very, very long time. His family usually spat out the same platitudes that they’d been using all his life. And his women, Grace, and May, and Lizzie, they’d say things but it hadn’t been like that—they couldn’t see right through him.</p><p>“Just like that, Tommy boy, while I get ready.” Alfie stripped down to nothing as well; he had much fewer clothes than Tommy did. Just the vest, shirt, trousers and socks. He didn’t have any belts or garters or clasps keeping everything meticulously in place. He was the precise sort of masculine Tommy had always been passively thrilled by.</p><p>“Now, tell me if I’m wrong, but you have been fucked by men before, Tom, have you not?” Alfie asked. Tommy nodded, and Alfie mirrored the movement, “Good. Have you fucked without being allowed to use your hands?” </p><p>This time, Tommy shook his head because he wasn’t sure what else to do. Did Alfie want him to elaborate on the fact the last time he’d felt this way had been when Tatiana had strangled him? He’d been drunk and confused and then so, so fucking bereft he’d have done anything she told him to! Back then, when the wounds were still fresh, he would have submitted to anything for the chance to see Grace. Though that sort of desperation had given way to softer edges recently and he no longer needed to be made completely unlike himself to accept kindness from his bedfellow. Wanted it? Certainly. Needed? Maybe. But he knew such vulnerability would be used against him. </p><p>Why was Alfie looking at him like that?</p><p>It had been too long, Tommy realized, between the question and his answer.</p><p>“Cat got your tongue, Thomas?” Alfie’s lips were pulled down, his eyes narrowed and assessing, “Thomas. Do you want to fuck or not?”</p><p>Tommy opened his mouth and exhaled, and it took a moment of wordlessly moving his lips before eventually, the words found their way out, “I do want to.”</p><p>Alfie still didn’t seem pleased with him. For a panicked moment, Tommy thought maybe Alfie would stop this since he wasn’t behaving like himself. Tommy got to his feet and closed the gap between them to press his mouth hard over Alfie’s. He kissed the man’s frown away, wrapped both arms around Alfe’s strong waist, and splayed his fingers across the broad back, holding him. He didn’t want to allow Alfie a moment to reconsider. He was fucking desperate for this and he didn’t know what would happen if Alfie sent him home now. </p><p>He might die.</p><p>That sounded dramatic to even as he thought it but the sentiment was no less true. He was already thinking about how he could just drive his car into the sea, get trapped under the waves. Drown as his mother had. He didn’t want to live one more second if Alfie was going to reject him for being honest. The first time he’d even entertained being honest and here he was about to be turned out into the night! </p><p>He had to fix this. </p><p>Had to make Alfie want him.</p><p>“Stop, stop, stop,” Alfie broke the kiss, he pushed Tommy away, both hands on the man’s chest. Tommy craned his neck, he stomped his feet, his arms reached and grabbed at Alfie’s skin, but the man was too strong to be moved. Tommy felt panic rising, he wasn’t thinking straight anymore. </p><p>He just wanted Alife.</p><p>“Thomas!” Alfie barked at him, and that made Tommy pause, made his back go straight like he was in France again being told to keep his head down or the Germans might see and might— “Fuckin’ hell, mate, lookit you! Gone and gotten lost already!” Alfie was warm again, like honey on toast, “Alright, Thomas, alright. Alright.” Alfie drew him back in and Tommy crashed forward, but his momentum was stopped by the brick wall that was Alfred Solomons. The man didn’t let Tommy pry his lips open, he kept his mouth shut, offering just chaste, sweet kisses. Tommy was furious, he tried shaking Alfie and biting at his jaw and neck, but it wasn’t working. No matter how hard Tommy raged Alfie wasn’t going to budge, and eventually, it was hopeless! Tommy felt himself slumping forward, forehead on Alfie’s shoulder, he was shaking; whether with adrenaline or despair, he didn't know.</p><p>Alfie’s arms came around him and he squeezed, “All done now, Thomas? Got it out of your system, hm? You’re not in control. I am. I’m the boss right now. You see that, don’t you? Clever lad like you, such a good boy. You must see you’ve got no power tonight.” Tommy felt icy cold and he let his arms slip around Alfie’s waist. He waited, letting Alfie’s hand cup the back of his head, stroking over the short fuzz at the base of his skull. Then, Alfie’s fingers hooked his jaw and tilted his head back and Tommy’s submission was rewarded with a heated kiss.</p><p>Tommy almost felt like he was floating.</p><p>“Onto the bed, Thomas,” Alfie said, steering the other man back to where he’d been sitting, “I’m going to tie your hands. Ready?”</p><p>Tommy nodded and sat, then watched Alfie as he puttered around the bedroom. It was as if he was looking down a tunnel, all he could focus on was Alfie, and all he could think about was the pleasure he was about to receive. So, when Alfie returned Tommy offered his wrists without being told to, and again Alfie used the softest voice and said: “Good boy, Tom.”</p><p>Tommy felt something twisted up tight in his chest suddenly come loose. It was like he’d finally gotten to take a real breath. Alfie seemed to understand, and once Tommy’s arms were tied, wrist to elbow, folded over one another at the small of his back, they began. Alfie gently tipped Tommy onto his back and spent the next hour or so pulling the man deeper and deeper into himself until Thomas Shelby OBE DCM MM MP was nothing but sounds and sensations. When Alfie finally finished prepping and started thrusting, Tommy’s only thoughts were about Alfie and how he wanted to make the man feel as weightless as he felt in that moment.</p><p> </p><p>**</p><p>	They laid in bed once they were both spent. Alfie watched Tommy, feeling very smug that he’d reduced the unflappable bastard to a mewling puddle with his just fingers and some niceties. Tommy was still lost in himself, eyes wide open, staring somewhere beyond the ceiling. Alfie knew he soon had to untie the man, but he didn’t want to startle Tommy from whatever soft place he’d finally found. Alfie knew, first-hand, what it was like to be pulled from that sweet place, and he did not want their first night together to end on a sour note. His knuckles rubbed gently between Tommy’s pectorals, applying the slightest bit of pressure so Tommy knew he wasn’t alone. Alfie was watching him, and so was surprised when the man suddenly pulled his left arm up, twisting his right shoulder like a pretzel. Alfie didn’t have a moment to react before Tommy’s expression became panicked as he tried again to free his left arm, and when that failed he began kicking his legs and turning his head to lift himself up, probably planning to dislocate his shoulder to get his hands free once more.</p><p>“Ssshh, Tommy, you’re alright,” Alfie sat up, trying to soothe the other man by patting his hip, “Stop it now. Stop.” Tommy seemed to still just a little bit, but his breathing was ragged and his eyes were unfocused. Still under then, Alfie mused, good. “Give me just a moment.” He undid the knot easily, then in one fluid motion Tommy’s left hand came up and his thumb found its way into his mouth where he began sucking frantically.</p><p>Alfie sat, a little surprised. He hadn’t forgotten Tommy’s weakness, but he hadn’t expected it to make a debut after they’d just fucked. Tommy’s breathing was slowing down again but was still wet and loud, so Alfie gently helped Tommy lay on his side. It seemed then Tommy recalled he had two hands. The right one came up to stroke at the soft hair behind his ear. Tommy’s eyes closed, looking for all the world like a man with no troubles. Alfie laid behind him, then gently placed his own hand under Tommy’s and began stroking his hair too. There was no reason to deny Tommy the comfort he was seeking; Alfie had seen enough men bottle up their wants until it killed them. If all Thomas Shelby needed was a soft place to turn off his brain, a thumb to suck, and his hair stroked, how could Alfie deny him? </p><p>“There we are, Tom,” Alfie said softly, “Needed a bit of comfort, I see. After what you did I’m not surprised. Man like you doesn’t get to forget himself every day, does he?” Tommy’s sucking slowed, “No, no, none of that. You were a very good boy, Thomas, go ahead and suck your thumb.” When Tommy resumed, Alfie kissed his cheek and whispered, “That’s it.”</p><p> </p><p>**</p><p>	“Now, see here, you little brute,” Alfie’s voice boomed, “I’ve half a mind to tip you over and smack your arse for this insolence!”</p><p>Tommy didn’t flinch. He was, by now, used to Alfie’s threats. Though more and more lately they’d begun to reference punitive corporal punishments. Tommy elected to ignore this development. Either Alfie would or wouldn’t introduce the game and Tommy learned he didn’t care what they played so long as he was able to make Alfie happy, and, in turn, chase that wonderful place between consciousness and unconsciousness. He took the cigarette from his mouth and blew smoke directly at his bellowing partner. He liked to rile Alfie up, especially over nothing, which this certainly was. </p><p>Tommy’d taken a rather hefty cut off their latest import. A tax, he called it. </p><p>Alfie called it highway robbery.</p><p>Alfie had to call it that because this space he’d procured in Margate, just a few blocks from his home, was a rental. He didn’t quite have the disposable capital yet to purchase the whole building outright! He had just this office and two smaller ones connected by a short hallway. Largely, he was trying to separate what little business he did now, in his retirement, from his home. Also, Ollie was growing frustrated with having to constantly drive from Camden Town to tend to business with Alfie, so these offices would serve as a place for him to work and sleep as well. Tommy knew that, and he had known it when he decided to take more of the cut. He had children to feed. Ollie didn’t equate to the same level of need as two growing children! </p><p>“Times are tough, Alfie, you know we can’t keep operating on the old prices. Labor is more expensive. Shipping is more expensive. If we want to keep our lifestyles, then we must accept taxes as a natural consequence.” Tommy said.</p><p>“Oh, you,” Alfie wagged his finger in Tommy’s face, “You’re a proper brat, aren’t you? I’ve spoiled you. That’s exactly what it is. I’ve taken a perfectly good boy who’ve I’ve turned so bloody rotten because all I do is attend to your every little whim. You’re taking and taking and taking, aren’t you, rotten thing, and what can I even do about it? How can I curb this nasty little attitude of yours? Hm? Seems it’s become a habit now. Terrible. Terrible.”</p><p>Tommy had to admit it was somewhat true. After their first night together the next time Tommy came over it was for a long weekend, and he would later admit it had been gluttonous of him. He had demanded Alfie fuck him soundly, send him to that soft place, and then hold him as he sucked his thumb and fell asleep. Now that he had a place where he could abandon his inhibitions, he was determined to never let it go; and he understood why Lizzie had demanded they find other partners. Alfie could give him things no one else could. </p><p> Alfie had seen all of the worst parts of himself; Alfie had seen him behave like a wild animal! He’d watched Tommy kill a man with such ferocity he'd been covered toe to tail in blood, he watched Tommy meticulously form deals with men to negotiate how many lives had to end to meet their means, and never did he offer judgment. Well, Alfie certainly offered disapproving opinions, but did that count? Not if later that night Alfie had no problem stroking his hair and telling him he was a good boy. Tommy was surprised by how often he wanted Alfie to tell him that. He was even more surprised when he was alone in one of his many places of business, he caught himself imagining Alfie rumbling permission in his ear to suck his thumb. He couldn’t stop the half-smiles, or the swell of something when Alfie’s voice came to his memory, like a bell, telling him he was good. A good boy. </p><p>A good boy.</p><p>“What are you going to do about it, Solomons?” Tommy asked.</p><p>“Exactly what I said I’d do. Though, maybe not here. Maybe once I get you back to my rooms, I’ll take you in hand.” Alfie said.</p><p>Now, Tommy was annoyed, “I’d like to see you try. I’m not so large but that means I’ll be faster than you. Harder to kill us little fuckers, isn’t it?</p><p>Alfie leveled him with a hard look, and after a beat said, “Suck your thumb, Thomas.”</p><p>Tommy was surprised, he looked at Alfie and he knew he didn’t school the expression fast enough, “What was that?”</p><p>“Suck your thumb,” Alfie repeated, “You’re stroppy and when you’re stroppy I know that’s what you want to do.”</p><p>Tommy sat there, angry that Alfie read him like a book. But, easily enough, he obeyed, and he settled back in the chair opposite his partner with his thumb in his mouth. Like magic, he felt his shoulders relaxing, and his eyes finding a hazy middle-distance to focus on. He trusted Alfie wouldn’t let anyone come in and bear witness to his shame, so he indulged, because it was a harmless little habit, and it did bring him peace. He’d been on edge all day, knowing the row he’d have with Alfie after enforcing the tax. Now that he was here he was surprised the route the night was taking. Would he be punished once they made it back to Alfie’s house? Or, would he be scolded here and sent home to Lizzie? He had no way of knowing but he found the unknowing wasn’t weighing on him. </p><p>He trusted Alfie. </p><p>Alfie would not make a decision that would hurt him.</p><p>Well, not in ways he didn’t like.</p><p> </p><p>**</p><p>It had been over a year since he began this arrangement with Alfie and nearly eighteen months since he’d told Lizzie. She had been happy for him and offered them a room in a different wing of the house. Tommy hadn't told Alfie yet but he knew, eventually, he would want the man to come and join him in Arrow House. If not formally, then maybe for a weekend while the children are away. He hadn't felt like he was drowning for months now and he wanted to share with Alfie what it was like; having the days to himself in almost every conceivable way.</p><p> He spent stolen nights in Margate, evenings with his children; noisy as they are, afternoons in Parliament, and dewy mornings riding across his estate. Life had settled into something Tommy had forgotten about: a routine. There was a sameness to most of his days, very little occurred to deviate him from this sequence of events. He’d long ago— when he was a child, before the war— forgotten what it felt like for the days not to be punctuated by some tragedy, be that a problem, betrayal, or planning a murder. Every day blurred pleasantly at the edges, Monday becoming Friday becoming Sunday, all easy and predictable. Everyone commented on how well he looked, Arthur even asked if he'd started sleeping. And, no, he hadn't, not unless he was truly made exhausted, but the nightmares didn't follow him beyond dawn anymore.</p><p>The night before last he’d been sitting with the children in the living room; they were playing Parcheesi, he'd been reading, Lizzie was away visiting her lover, the maids were upstairs preparing the children's baths. It was the sort of evening he found himself enjoying more and more often. Suddenly, Ruby traded an excellent barb with Charlie and Tommy found himself laughing. It probably wasn’t a good sign that Ruby had screamed with excitement and Charlie had stared at him in surprise.</p><p> “Are you feeling alright, daddy?” Charlie asked, his voice was soft, he was still such a child. When Tommy’d been eight, he spent most nights camping with his brothers, avoiding his father, certainly not calling him daddy or sitting in the same room as the man. It felt like all this work had been worth something to know neither of his children knew of strife.</p><p>“Yes,” Tommy sat up a little straighter, still smiling, “Come here, then, I’ve got to go to London soon.” Both children hugged him and he held them a little tighter. His head felt clear.</p><p>He was above water.</p><p>In Margate, four hours later, Tommy let himself in Alfie’s front door with his spare key. The house was quiet, the staff had all gone home, and dinner had long since been packed away. Tommy made his way up to Alfie’s parlor where they usually sat together. He heard the tap running in the bathroom and assumed Alfie was bathing. Sometimes Tommy joined him in the bath, especially if he'd spent the day working or riding and sorely needed one, but he didn't feel like it tonight. Alfie had stopped complaining of the smell of horses and motor oil which Tommy nearly always smelled like. Today he hadn't left the house except to go riding, and even then he'd taken Charlie so they hadn't ridden hard. </p><p>Tommy went to one of the many bookshelves and looked at what Alfie had on his shelf. He picked one, the spine was smooth and shiny still, it was the newest Agatha Christie novel “The Sittaford Mystery,” and sat down to read. Normally Tommy preferred nonfiction, but today had felt so easy he didn't want to read something which required his full attention. </p><p>Soon, the words blurred until they had no meaning at all.</p><p>An hour later, Alfie emerged from the bathroom warm and cozy in his sleeping clothes. The parlor was dark with just one lamp lit beside his chair. He knew Tommy ought to be here but the bastard could be anywhere! Sometimes he decided to forgo sleep to walk the beach or he spent all night sitting on the back-porch smoking and watching the plants grow. Alfie expected, once he found his coat, that he'd have to go looking for his partner. But, to his surprise, Tommy was relaxing back in what had become his armchair. The man had his thumb lodged in his mouth, eyes unfocused on the churning black sea stretching out beyond the window. </p><p>Alfie gently stroked some stray hairs off of Tommy's forehead, "Treacle?" the palest blue eyes turned to look up at him. Alfie couldn't keep himself from smiling just a little bit, "I see you've made yourself at home."</p><p>When Alfie first met Tommy he’d been smitten— well, maybe horny was more apt. Smitten came later, probably. The point is, he’d found Tommy appealing for years. Now though, seeing the man completely unfurled, limp like the sail of a boat, and oozing contentment, well, Alfie felt like his chest was just a little too tight. This hard-edged creature had chosen him as his soft spot to land, and god damn Alfie was not going to disappoint. He rested one hand on Tommy’s shoulder, making sure not to jostle the digit wedged in Tommy’s slack mouth, “Come on to bed, sweetie.”</p><p>And Tommy did.</p>
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